


Of Harding of the Hill

by Nordicshaman



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordicshaman/pseuds/Nordicshaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his father's death, Harding inherited the Hill, the former home of Bilbo Baggins. After receiving an invitation in the mail from an unknown 'T.B', Harding decides to travel East for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Harding of the Hill

It wasn’t long after the passing of the Holfast that Harding was given his new home, The Hill. It’s a rather nice place to live, with plenty of rooms for clothes, a well stocked pantry, and plenty of pegs for hats and coats. “Just as Bilbo wrote.” Said Harding, as he laid down his copy of ‘There and Back Again.’ A few odd years before now, he had received word that his kin, the Fairbairns of the Towers, had come into possession of the Red Book of Westmarch. Harding, having some odd blood in him, had a fascination with the Red Book and, more especially, the part written by Bilbo Baggins himself. He sent swiftly a letter to the Fairbairns asking for a copy of the book, and, to his amazement, they obliged and sent him his very own copy. Ever since that day, a good few years ago that was, he has read that book cover to cover.

Harding walked the round halls of The Hill and found himself in the common room. He had been lacking in something his whole life, yet he wasn’t able to pin point a thing. “What am I to do now?” He thought, “Shall I just sit at home and tend my garden? Or shall I wander the market in hopes for fresh greens and vegetables?” His hairy feet could never seem to sit still, and, sometimes, this proved to be a weakness of his. A ring came from outside of his home as he finished the thought and he walked to the door. As he peered out, he could see the tail end of the mail man’s carriage. Smiling, Harding said, “Well I wonder if I have any mail.” He rushed past the gate and opened the mailbox and found a letter addressed to him from a person by the initials ’T.B’. “Wonder who this could be.” Harding said softly as he wandered his way back inside, slowly closing the round, green door behind him.

His tossed the letter to the side and tended to his business, saving it for later tonight. He looked around, and found an assortment of maps and drawings, left by his father. He picked up a piece of parchment, and it seemed to have a foreign script written on it. It definitely wasn’t any language of man, nor of Hobbit, but it seemed to be of Elven decent. He’s seen something like this before transcribed in a copy of the Red Book that his father had. “This is odd.” He thought, and he shuffled through the other pieces of paper. There were drawings of great towns, weapons wrought with runes, and, to his surprise, notes about far off lands and hidden places. “By my hairy feet!” Harding exclaimed as he saw the signature of the author of the notes, “These are by Bilbo Baggins!” He jumped around his common room like a child who just received a sweet. He sat down in his chair with a window open and a pipe of Old Toby lit in his lips and read through all of the notes first.

The first few pages detailed Bilbo’s travels after he left with the troupe of Thorin Oakenshield, last great Kind Under the Mountain. He had his own little notebook, you see, clad in leather with his personal insignia burned into the front, and, as he read the notes, he transferred any information he deemed worthy into his own cache of knowledge. He wrote of Bilbo’s lack of a handkerchief, mainly due to it’s hilarity, and of the things not already cataloged in 'There and Back Again’. He wrote of the night sky in a far off land, and the smell of the ponies, which, oddly enough, smelled relatively similar to the dwarves. He wrote of the great Beorn and off the numerous times he was offered a peculiar looking mushroom by the wizard Radagast. He could barely believe what he was transcribing. He continued into the dead of night, tracing drawings and copying dates, dwarven words, and long forgotten history, until the moon was at it’s highest.

As Harding heard the hoot of an owl nearby, he looked out his window to see a blacked night sky being lit up by a full moon. Stars twinkled as he took in a deep breath of fresh, cool air. “I’ve been cramped up in this hole for a wee bit long. Maybe a walk will do my health some good.” As quick as he thought this he grabbed his walking stick and hat and was out the door. He took a stroll through Hobbiton, greeting the night owls and younglings still wandering the world at this late hour. Everyone else was fast asleep in their homes. As he returned to his home, he saw a glowing yellow light appear from his mailbox. It wasn’t too bright, but, since the door was cracked open, he could plainly see a dull, blinking yellow light. He approached the mailbox with weariness, slowly opening the door with the end of his walking stick, and peeked inside. “Oh sweet heavens!” He gasped as a firefly flew out from the mailbox, blinking it’s hind quarters as he trailed off into the night sky. Harding, catching his breath, wandered back into The Hill. He tossed his hot and coat onto the pegs beside his door and, as he set his walking stick down, remembered his letter. He picked it up and walked to his chair in the main room. He examined it slowly, noticing nothing but the large “T.B.” on the front of the envelope. He decided to make himself a bit of tea before delving any further and, after he made his tea, returned back and opened the letter, and it read:

“Greetings, Harding! I heard you have inherited the home of the once great Bilbo Baggins, and I would like to extend my congratulations! I’m sure you are familiar with me in some way, shape, or form, but my name is Tom, and I would like to invite you to my home by the Old Forest. I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way, since it should have been chronicled by Mr. Baggins himself at least once. My well wishes to you and yours. Sincerely, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry.”

Harding was ecstatic! He had just been invited to meet Tom Bombadil, of whom he read about in the Red Book! His mind raced with questions. “How will I get there? What should I take? Should I bring a gift?” All of these thoughts, and more, blinked in and out of his mind until he came to the most important thought of all. “Where is this place?” He didn’t know where the Old Forest was, truly, although he did know it was just east of the Shire, and that he had to stay wary of a tree by the name of Old Man Willow. After this point, Harding decided to head to bed, for he, indeed, had a big day ahead of him tomorrow.

The sun was shining bright in the sky when Harding awoke from his sleep. Slowly, he rose from his comfy bed and made his way to the pantry. He grabbed himself some breakfast, some eggs, bread, butter, and jam, and made himself some tea alongside of it. After his morning breakfast, and a wee bit of garden tending, he started making a list of things he will definitely need to take along with him on his trip to see Mr. Bombadil. “Alright,” Said he, “What to bring.” He started by gathering some pieces of bread, some biscuits, and a seed cake or two and wrapped them up. He set aside these to put on top later. He gathered an extra pair of clothes, two handkerchiefs, and put them into his knapsack. On top of this, he put his notebook, some writing utensils and ink, and his food. He packed up his pipe and pipe-weed into a neat leather holder and pouch. (He grew and harvested the pipe-weed himself) He double checked himself and, before he put on his knapsack, grabbed his coat, hat, and walking stick, and headed out the door for the east.

As Harding passed the Hobbits as they walked along their way, he noticed something grand about that day. The sky was blue and there was a small amount of clouds, and he enjoyed the weather. It wasn’t too warm at all, yet it wasn’t cold, it was just right for a traveling day. He made his way into the East Farthing past Bywater and followed the road until he met at a crossroads at Buckland. “Alright, now which way to go..” He could go either forward or to the right, and he decided to go right. After a couple more hours of walking, nightfall came and he made it to Buckland. He decided to rest the night in Brandy Hall, where Frodo once stayed. He walked up to the great hall and knocked on the door. He was greeted by a kind looking woman, definitely in her later years, and she smiled. “Do you need a place to stay, dear?” He replied, “Yes I do, ma'am. My name is Harding Gardner, great-grandson of Samwise Gardner.” The old woman’s face lit up and she quickly invited him inside. She sat him down and made him a hot cup of tea. “What brings you here, Mr. Gardner? Do you have business in Brandybuck?” He nodded and replied kindly, after sipping his tea,”Indeed I do. I’ll be meeting an acquaintance by forenoon tomorrow, I hope.” She stood, “I wish you the best of luck, dear. Welcome yourself to our pantry for breakfast, or a snack, and I’ll hopefully see you before you head out. Your room is passed the fireplace, down the hall and to the left. Your pack waits you. Sleep well!” Harding returned the wish and she went to bed, as did he.

The next morning, Harding woke up with the rising of the sun. He stumbled out of bed, stretching and yawning, and wandered to the pantry. He took only a couple eggs and a biscuit, and made just enough to tide him until lunch. He left at around mid morning, right after Mrs. Brandybuck woke up and greeted him. She gave him plenty of food and drink to accompany him on the road, and he was off.

He wandered around Buckland for a short time, taking in the sights and sounds of the local hobbits, before wandering into the wood. He managed to get a new handkerchief and some sweets, just in case he has to fight of a sweet tooth. He met a few quaint fellows who were working on making a house for a fellow Hobbit. He took some time to help them out, picking up tools and digging. He went to the farmer’s market in hopes that he could find an apple or two, and he did, at a fair price too. The morning was still at it’s middle when two fishermen strolled by. They carried poles much larger than themselves, and a bucket full of worms and creeping critters.

He stood at the mouth of the Old Forest, gazing into the deep, dark wood. The mighty primeval forest, existing long before men and elves, still stretched far into the land. He noticed that if he stayed still, and focused, he could almost feel the heart beat of the trees. The life force between each one as it was being fed by the earth. As he did this, a voice came from behind one of the trees. He looked around, yet he couldn’t tell where the voice came from. As he looked deeper into the wood, a man wearing a blue jacket and bright yellow boots. In a soft voice, the man said, “Hello, friend.”, and Harding nearly jumped out of his britches. “And who may you be, sir?” Asked Harding. The man replied, “Well I’m a merry old fellow by the name of Tom Bombadillo! But most people call me Tom Bombadil. Would you like a guide through the Old Forest?” “Oh yes please!” Harding responded, and they began heading into the wood.


End file.
